My Uncle, Grian.

Another ram in the house

Morning came sooner than Tommy had wanted or had hoped for. It came in the form of birds chirping happily outside and Kubo barking loudly at the window. That's what had woken him up: Kubo and his insistent barking. He couldn't even see the birds thanks to the shutters but the sound alone was apparently enough to havs the dog going insane.

"Kubooo", he whined, and hoping to get some more sleep, he turned on his side and pressed a pillow over his uncovered ear. Kubo, answering to his cry of protest, jumped up on the bed and proceeded to nose his face. "I don't want to get uuup! Stooop!"

Kubo did not stop for a moment. Instead, he continued prodding at Tommy's face with his wet nose and if Tommy didn't love the dog, he would've had pushed him away already. And then came the tongue. The wet, moist tongue that had Tommy rolling away and furiously wiping at the saliva on his cheek with the back of his hand in disgust. He fell off the bed, taking the covers with him, leading to a mess of human child and fabric and some dog on the floor.

Kubo walked off him, completely ignoring him despite accidentally stepping on Tommy's stomach and slightly knocking the breath out of him. Tommy decided to not curse as he groaned on his way up.

It was almost muscle memory to open the door and walk out the hall, turning to the right before taking a set number of steps to reach the entrance of the kitchen. He opened the fridge door, grabbed a carton of milk, turned to the counter, grabbed the first box of cereal, a bowl from the cabinet. The moves were almost sluggish, Kubo noisily crunching on his dog food by the chair Tommy dragged out.

Then he heard a groan from the living room and turning, he remembered: there was a stranger in the house who might've had bled out on the couch overnight. He leaned back in his chair, peeked his head in the room and spied the brown curls poking out from behind the couch pillows and the bumps of the curved horns. There was no Mumbo in the vicinity, leaving Tommy to wonder where the man was and swiftly noting the noise outside the front door; the man must've gone to collect the paper or something.

Abandoning his breakfast, Tommy crept to the living room, looming over the first couch and peering at the grimace on the boy's -Tubbo's- face. Tubbo looked like he was in pain and Tommy doubted that he'd feel better anytime soon with the bullet holes litering his body. At least, they got the bleeding to stop and he wasn't but a living corpse on their couch. That's a relief.

So, what's he supposed to do? He sat down next to the couch, resting his arm on the firm cushion and his cheek on his palm. Should he wake the boy up? He needed to eat too.

The front door opened, the charms hanging on the handle jingling. Tommy turned to find a sweaty Mumbo in casual clothing entering the house; it's such a weird sight to see the guy out of his tight dress pants and suit. The man held a bloody towel and a plastic bucket that looked heavy but the wait didn't have his tall body tilting.

"What were you doing outside?", Tommy asked curiously. Kubo patted his way over to his owner, sniffing his trousers. Mumbo did a plaquating motion with the hand holding the towel, though it was hard to distinguish it.

"Keep it down, Tommy, Tubbo is still asleep", he sighed. "I was cleaning up the blood outside, I didn't think you'd wake up so early"

Tommy looked at him, intrigued. "Early?"

"It's around 6, mate"

Oh. He had woken up early. The wall clock confirmed that it would soon be 6 o'clock.

"Kubo woke me up", he explained, only a tinge of complaint in his tone. Kubo was too cute to hold a grudge against.

"Ah", was all Mumbo said before receding to the bathroom, probably to empty the bucket in the toilet bowl.